I had a student say this to me the other day, and I wanted to hit him on the head with a big fat volume of the Encyclopedia Brittanica. His class came in to the library to do research for their Pop Culture class, something to do with tying fashion trends and events in history together.

(Did you know when times are tough, people wear longer skirts? I’m not sure I believe that, but that’s what the teacher said. Guess we’ll all be tripping over our hemlines and falling on our faces pretty soon with the way the economy is going.)

Anyway, our library has an outstanding collection of fashions-through-the-decades books, as well as lots of history resources. Nearly every kid turned up their nose at my suggestion to go looking in the 624s and asked for a computer instead.

Now I’m a big fan of computer research. I’m an armchair traveler and Googler extraordinaire. But if I could get my hands on the right book and flip pages, that’s what I’d do first.

I know that to reach young people today, you’ve got to go digital, technological, fast-fast-fast. I blame it on Sesame Street with its bite-size scenes and endless hours of blowing up things in video games. I wonder if romance writers in the future will have to do this:

“Rblla, I luv u. U driv me wld w/pashun. B min 2nite.

So, am I completely archaic— an old lady who’d rather soak in the freestanding bathtub with a book than read it on a screen? Please predict the future of fiction through your crystal ball. Are you a fan of YA literature? I recommend Jennifer Donnelly’s A Northern Light.

Librarian. The Original Search Engine.

Librarians do it by the book.

Library card—better than a credit card.

Librarians have tighter buns.

Librarians do it in the stacks.

Just a little lame library humor. It’s National Library Week. I’m not a librarian, but I play one every day. My degree was in English, but for the past three years I’ve worked in a high school library behind the circulation desk, designing all the displays and running the after school library program and girls’ book club. My official title is Educational Technician III, but basically I’m a library clerk who covers books, stamps cards, nags kids, inventories, straightens shelves, clips newspapers, mentors library aides and keeps attendance records. I love my job because I come in contact with hundreds of students and staff daily. I find weird holidays (Bulldog Day, April 28) and make weird signs. Unfortunately I don’t have time to read on the job, but I can override the maximum check-out limit on the computer and take home as many books as I want.

I also patronize our town’s excellent, elegant library, pictured above. Lately, I’ve tried to cut back on book-buying, and while the public library doesn’t always have the latest romances, I still find plenty to read.

What do you like most about your day job? Do you have a great library near you? Were you the kid who stuck the juice box behind the short story collection?

Congratulations to MRMR’s Poet Laureate, Reverend Melinda, whose name was written on an itty bitty piece of paper and plucked from the pile! E-mail your address for your prize package to maggierobinson8@yahoo.com !

…especially in Maine, where it is due to SNOW this weekend. But it is also National Poetry Month. I’ve done the usual display in the high school library, and have posters up from Poets.org and books ranging from Shel Silverstein to Edgar Allen Poe.

National Poetry Month gets knocked by some as a superficial attempt to lure people into poetry. That may be so, but one month is probably better than none. Even though I used to write it (badly), poetry is not really my favorite thing. I spent more than my fair share of time in school trying to figure out what the hell poets were trying to say when it seemed to my prosaic self they could have done far more efficiently without such obscure symbolism. I am a Philistine, I guess.

I found this really fun site (Magnetic Poetry Online Poetry Kit—just click onto the link) to tap into your creative side and kill some time at work.

Fool around with it (it’s like refrigerator magnet poetry but you’ll be clicking and dragging the little words onto the screen instead of the fridge), come back here and share your great poem. You have several choices from the the word kits—I picked the romance one, natch. I haven’t had a contest in ages, so it’s time. One poet will win a prize! Enter as many times as you want to bring culture (and amusement) to MRMR. Or you can post a poem you like. New post and winner announced on Friday, April 18.

Now I’ll leave you with my favorite poem, Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold.

The sea is calm to-night.

The tide is full, the moon lies fair

Upon the straits; on the French coast the light

Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;

Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.

Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!

Only, from the long line of spray

Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,

Listen! you hear the grating roar

Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,

At their return, up the high strand,

Begin, and cease, and then again begin,

With tremulous cadence slow, and bring

The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago

Heard it on the Aegaean, and it brought

Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow

Of human misery; we

Find also in the sound a thought,

Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith

Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore

Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.

But now I only hear

Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,

Retreating, to the breath

Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear

And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true

To one another! for the world, which seems

To lie before us like a land of dreams,

So various, so beautiful, so new,

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;

And we are here as on a darkling plain

Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,

Where ignorant armies clash by night.

I’ve made a nest in 18 places in my adult life. Whew. Makes me sound like a gypsy or a jetsetter, and I am assuredly neither. But it’s fun to unpack boxes and pull out the talismans that have followed me around the country. Nothing horribly valuable, but meaningful just the same. I have a framed poem from my friend Claudia, two green Wedgwood pitchers, my grandmother’s Tiffany vase set with turquoise. Lots of mismatched china from both sides of the family. A stuffed pig that was presented to me one Christmas from “your four little pigs.” A pastel sketch by daughter #3. My great-aunt’s marble table. A reclaimed sideboard my husband refinished.

When my kids were little I’d drag them to antiques fairs, and they’d go around saying, “Look, we have this at home.” There’s been a distinct Victorian vibe in every house we’ve had, simply because of the objects we inherited. As much as I admire sleek modernity, my eye is trained to vintage.

When I write, I try to picture what the hero and heroine surround themselves with. I make it a point to go on house tours, read up on decorative arts, watch period-set movies. Vanity Fair is a favorite of mine because of its broad scope. I guess I’m just a frustrated decorator at heart.

What makes your house a home? Do your characters have things they can’t live without?

There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort. ~Jane Austen

I’m blogging 3/30 at Romantic Inks about the stuff on your desk you “need.” Drop by!